


Even If Things Get Heavy (we’ll all float on)

by cacoethes79 (FaeryQueen07)



Series: Forty Six and 2 [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, Transgender, Transsexual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-16
Updated: 2011-10-16
Packaged: 2017-10-24 15:59:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/265335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaeryQueen07/pseuds/cacoethes79
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jackson has a hard time assimilating new information and putting it into perspective. Thankfully he has Danny to turn to. In other words, Jackson finds out Stiles is transgender and freaks the fuck out. But not for the reason people suspect. Sort of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even If Things Get Heavy (we’ll all float on)

**Author's Note:**

> Unlike basically every other fic in this ‘verse, this one is not from Stiles’ POV. I chose to switch because I am dealing with Jackson’s reaction and that’s hard to do when you’re not showing their thought process. To that end, there will be people in Stiles’ life who do not respond well to finding out he’s transgender. It would be a miracle otherwise. However, I am choosing not to put that negativity out there. So your warning is this: Jackson is an asshole, but he’s also best friends with an openly gay guy. His reaction isn’t how it first appears. Give him a chance. No one is perfect, Jackson least of all, despite how hard he tries.

Jackson knows something is up the minute he and Lydia step into Derek’s house. It’s a pack meeting, but it isn’t just pack in attendance. Allison’s dad is there as well, and it makes Jackson nervous to see him. He narrows his eyes and shoves past Stiles to the couch, dropping down into a sprawl that leaves no room for anyone else. It’s a defense mechanism, and a shitty one at that, but while Jackson might be co-captain of the lacrosse team and one of the most popular students at Beacon Hills High, he lacks presence. Something Derek does not.

The moment Derek walks into the room, all eyes are on him: Chris Argent’s gaze wary, Stiles’ anxious, Scott’s deceptively calm. It’s the last that puts Jackson on edge. Scott has a nasty temper, nastier than Jackson’s sometimes, but it’s the way he goes still and contemplative right before he snaps that freaks Jackson out the most. Scott is anticipating a fight which means Jackson is fucked.

“Sit down and shut up,” Derek says, and he glares until only Stiles and Chris Argent are left standing. Stiles looks ready to bolt, but Derek grabs hold of his arm and tugs him back into place. “Go ahead.” Derek nods at Stiles, but doesn’t release him.

“Um.” Stiles looks a little lost and a lot overwhelmed. Jackson smirks just a little.

“Right.” Scott stands and throws a companionable arm around Stiles’ shoulders. “Like a bandaid, dude,” he says, but rather than let Stiles say whatever it is he’s mentally gearing up for, Scott charges right along. “Stiles is transgender.”

Jackson goes still. He’s heard that word before, he knows he has, but he can’t think of where or even what it means. It’s important, though, if the stench of fear coming off of Stiles is anything to go by. Jackson wishes his brain wouldn’t go into shutdown mode so easily. Then he hears Lydia pipe up from nearby.

“Wait, seriously? But, like. Obviously. What was I even thinking? Female-to-male, right?”

“What?” Jackson demands. He’s catching up now, and he thinks he gets it. His gaze flies from Lydia to Stiles to Scott to Derek, then back to Stiles who reeks of unease and fear and--

Fuck.

Understanding slams into him and he can’t help it. His gaze goes right to Stiles’ chest where breasts should be but aren’t and then down further before snapping back up to Stiles’ face. It’s like watching a horror movie, where the character about to die is fleeing up the stairs to what they hope is safety but will ultimately lead to their death. Jackson sees Stiles at school. Sees him on the lacrosse field during practice. He feels the impact of Stiles’ slighter frame as Jackson slams into him over and over.

There’s something else, something he’s forgetting. Something important. He knows that Lydia said it aloud, that he should know, but Jackson can only think about all the times he’s shoved Stiles down, knocked Stiles off his--his? Her? Feet. Over and over. Every bruise he’s inflicted, every scathing comment.

Jackson may not be the nicest person, but he’s prided himself on the fact that he would never hit a female. He would never treat a girl like he does any of the guys he hangs out with, or the ones on the team. He would never take out all his anger and rage on girl, but Jesus Christ. He nearly broke Stiles’ arm during the kid’s freshman year.

The conversation that’s been buzzing in the background comes to a sudden halt as Jackson stumbles to his feet. His hands are shaking, and he knows how he must look: angry bordering on furious because he isn’t good with expressing himself, not in front of a room full of people.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” he says as he backs away. He’s conscious of the flare of rage coming off Derek, but he’s _aware_ of the shame and resignation and hurt radiating off Stiles. He knows he should say something, but he can’t. Jackson has never had a way with words and right now, he just needs to not be in the room with them. He can’t stand here and face Stiles, so he does the only thing left to do.

He runs away.

~ * ~

Danny’s parents are out of town -- again -- which means Danny probably has company. Jackson is very aware of this as he screeches to a halt outside Danny’s house, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t even remember Danny’s boyfriend’s name, but that doesn’t stop him from banging on the door until Danny answers in nothing more than a pair of boxers, his blond boyfriend behind him.

“Dude, what the fuck?”

“We need to talk,” Jackson says, shouldering his way inside. He looks at the boyfriend and tries not glare. “In private.”

Boyfriend -- Troy, Jackson thinks his name is -- shrugs and wanders back presumably towards Danny’s bedroom. He kind of wants to tell the guy to leave, but that would be rude and Danny would get pissed.

“I screwed up,” Jackson says the minute Troy is out of hearing range. Well, Jackson can still hear him, and he twitches at one of the nastier things Troy has to say about him.

Danny sighs and waves him into the living room, then disappears to get coffee. Jackson takes a seat on the couch and almost immediately his leg is bouncing. He taps his fingers on his knee, gaze darting around, then feels like an ADD kid in a toy store and has to stop. Which makes him think of Stiles. Which has him wanting to throw up all over again because Jesus. Jackson closes his eyes, regrets it seconds later when he sees Stiles lying on the ground, winded from taking Jackson’s knee to the gut.

“Fuck.”

“Tell me what you did,” Danny says.

He takes a seat beside Jackson, close enough that Jackson can feel the heat rising off his body, to say nothing of the reek of sex. He doesn’t wrinkle his nose, though, doesn’t shift away, because this is Danny and there isn’t a part of Danny that repulses Jackson. Or Jackson’s wolf. Because underneath the smells of lust and sex and Troy and other things Jackson won’t put a name to, is the scent of _brother_. Danny already smells like pack and Jackson kind of hopes he joins them.

He has to shake himself to get back on track.

“Stiles. Scott said Stiles is transgender.”

Danny’s brows go up and he whistles. “Shit, does Stiles know he--”

“What? Yeah. Jesus, he--fuck. Fuck!”

“Jackson.”

“He’s a _she_ , Danny. Jesus. All this time. Oh _fuck_.” His hands are shaking again and he stares down at them, remembers Allison that night at the school and remembers the fake sympathy he had used with her, wanting only her trust so he could-- Jackson feels like the biggest bastard in the world.

“Wait. Transgender, right? So Stiles is female-to-male?”

“Yes. He’s. Fuck. He’s a _girl_!” And why is Danny not more concerned about this? Danny’s given Stiles a good knock before as well.

“You’re being an asshole, Jackson,” Danny says, voice cold and flat.

It’s strange, so strange to hear him talk like that. Like he hasn’t since they were fourteen and Jackson said ‘ _God, that’s so gay_ ’ about something stupid a younger kid had done. He can smell Danny’s barely controlled anger, knows the only reason Jackson hasn’t taken a fist to the face -- like he did back then -- is because Danny is giving him a chance to live up this expectation Danny has for him.

“He said--Scott said--. Jesus, I don’t--just _explain it_ , then. Because right now, Danny? Right now, all I can think is I’ve been spending the last two years pummeling a girl. Happily.”

Just like that, Danny’s scent changes. It goes from anger and mild contempt to fondness and pity. It’s taken Jackson nearly two months to learn those smells, to learn how to separate them from everything else, but he’s never really cared until now because they’re bringing him a sense of relief. Danny gets him. This is why Jackson always comes to him. Well, almost always.

“Gender isn’t just about the body, Jackson. Stiles might have been born with a girl’s body, but that’s not who he is inside. He identifies as a boy. You haven’t been beating up a girl on the lacrosse field. Just Stiles. Stiles, the boy who never shuts up and who’s kind of a spaz but always, _always_ means well. And you’re doing him an injustice calling him girl. Tell me what happened. Everything.”

Jackson does, and even though the anger starts to creep back into Danny’s expression and scent, he keeps going. It’s as he’s repeating what he said at Derek’s house that it hits him and Jackson doubles over, feeling sick and ashamed and yeah, he’s really fucked this up. He remembers the way Stiles smelled before Jackson fled and all he can think is that he’s just done the worst thing possible.

If there’s one thing Jackson is familiar with, it’s self-doubt. He can’t remember a time when he didn’t question everything about himself, from where he came from to whether or not he’s worthy of this life he’s been adopted into. And while he wouldn’t give up the parents who brought him into their home, he desperately wants and needs the reassurance that he wasn’t given up because someone saw some great fault in him. So he tries. He struggles to meet all the expectations that come from being the lacrosse team captain, -- co-captain, now -- from being the son of one of the wealthiest families in Beacon Hills, of being a top student in his grade.

He struggles every day to prove he’s worthy of this, and with just six small words, he’s reduced someone else to a level of insecurity and self-loathing Jackson has always been so careful never to inflict. He can be an asshole, he knows that, but he tries really hard to keep his transgressions shallow, skin deep. God, he’s screwed this up so badly.

“Whenever you’re done freaking out, let me know. I’m going to go get dressed and let Cody know I’ll be back later.”

“Oh. His name isn’t Troy?”

Danny just sighs. “No, it’s not.” He’s gone before Jackson can apologize -- and seriously, it’s not _his_ fault Danny’s boyfriend has a lame name, so he resigns himself to staring at the walls of family portraits. By the time Danny returns, Jackson has worked himself into a state furious guilt. It disappears the moment Danny’s hand comes down on the back of his neck and he shakes out the tension threatening to lock up his shoulders.

“Derek is going to kill me,” he realizes as they’re climbing into Danny’s car. He remembers the rage emanating from Derek, and he wilts just a little.

“I called Stiles. He’s at his house and knows I’m headed over. Under the pretense of picking up chem notes.” He casts a sidelong at Jackson, his expression still carefully neutral. “You haven’t screwed it up completely, but you need to get it into your head before we get there that Stiles is a boy. Don’t think about his biological gender. You were trusted with a secret, Jackson. Don’t fuck it up. Not even with good intentions.”

“I nearly broke his arm during practice once.”

“I remember that.” Danny grins and shoots Jackson a smug look. “You clearly forget that during the following practice, he knocked you on your ass. Into a puddle of mud. Stiles can take care of himself.” He pauses and shakes his head. “Right, I take that back. Stiles needs a minder. What he doesn’t need is coddling. He can, and will, give just as good as he gets.”

All too soon they’re pulling up outside the Stilinski residence. Jackson can smell Derek from inside the car, can smell the force of not only Derek’s anger, but that of his wolf and he shivers. He’s glad Danny is there, because Derek won’t rend Jackson from limb to limb in front of a non-wolf. He hopes. He climbs out of the car and steadfastly does not look at the shadows beside Stiles’ house, but he knows Derek is there and the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He wants to duck down, to crawl over to where Derek is hidden and bare his belly and throat and he hates that part of himself. Hates that his wolf can influence so much of how he thinks and feels.

Then Danny’s shoulder is bumping his and the moment is dispelled. He takes a deep breath and rings the doorbell, heart in his throat.

“Just relax,” Danny whispers. “And try not to fuck this up any more than you have.”

“Screw you.”

Jackson isn’t the least bit surprised when Scott answers the door and it takes everything he has not to turn around and leave again. Scott reeks of disgust and a predatory thirst for blood. He is, after all, Stiles’ best friend. Danny looks between them, brows raised high, and when Jackson makes no move to speak, takes initiative.

“Jackson would like to apologise.”

“Yeah? Well, I’d like to rip out his throat.” Scott’s glare is icy and there’s a hint of the wolf in his eyes.

Danny shrugs unconcernedly, but he shifts just a fraction, puts himself between Scott and Jackson. That makes Scott pull back a little. Jackson can tells he’s trying to scent them, and a small part of him him wants to shove Danny out of the way, to say he doesn’t need protecting, but another part, a bigger part, is enjoying Scott’s confusion despite the seriousness of the situation.

“We’re not fucking, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Jackson says after a long moment of Scott staring. “Now if you don’t mind, McCall--”

“Dude, are you gonna let him--Oh. Jackson. It’s you. Hey.” Stiles’ tone goes from curiosity and mild amusement to something...almost bitter. Not anger -- Jackson wonders if maybe Stiles is just incapable of getting angry -- but maybe a flash of hurt that goes bone-deep. It’s there and gone, replaced by genuine resolution and Jackson is thankful for Stiles’ sense of inner strength.

“Can we talk?” Jackson shoots a glance at Scott and shoves his hands into his pockets, a cover for the fact that he’s hunching his shoulders. “Alone?”

A muscle in Stiles’ cheek twitches and he seems to communicate something with Scott before he nods. “Yeah, sure. Why not.” He doesn’t say anything more, just turns on his heel and heads back up the stairs.

Jackson follows behind, skirting around Scott, who is growling low in his throat. Danny catches his arm, gives him a brief, reassuring squeeze but makes no move to join them. Jackson isn’t surprised. Though he’d like the moral support, he needs to be able to do this on his own, to prove himself to his pack. So he follows Stiles up to his room and then closes the door, aware that that won’t stop Scott from listening in.

There’s a long moment of tense, awkward silence and Stiles fidgets in his chair, discomfort flooding the air around him. Jackson clears his throat and drags over a second chair, sits so they’re facing one another with two feet between them. Jackson counts the frantic beats of Stiles’ heart and realizes he needs to say something sooner rather than later or the kid is going to give himself a heart attack.

“It wasn’t you. That made me sick. It wasn’t you.” Jackson studies Stiles. ‘Sick’ is the key; Stiles visibly flinches at the word. “I just--I couldn’t--it wasn’t making sense, in my head. I heard--I heard the word ‘female,’ and freaked out. I just. We play lacrosse, Stilin--Stiles. And every day, I make it make--I make it my _goal_ to put you down harder than I did the day before. Just because I can. I don’t--all I could think was that I have never hit a girl before in my entire life.” He’s out of breath when he finishes, drained and more than a little ready to just close his eyes and sleep. Or at least pretend this never happened.

Stiles stares at him, unnaturally still and quiet. It’s unnerving, and Jackson wants to snap at him, wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until he says whatever it is that’s on his mind. Then Stiles speaks.

“But I’m not. I’m not--I’m not a girl. I mean--”

“I know. I--just. That’s all I heard when Scott made that announcement.”

“But knowing I was born female--do you want me to quit the team?”

Jackson laughs at that, just a little, because yeah, he does, for all the wrong reasons. He knows that. “Give me time. I can’t--I can’t promise I won’t pull my punches, not at first. It’s going to take a while.”

“You went straight to Danny.”

“Danny sorts me out. He’s been the one to make things make sense for me since we were nine.”

“How old were you when he came out?”

Jackson sighs and leans back in the chair, closing his eyes. He can remember the day perfectly, from the weather to what they were wearing. “We were twelve. I asked him if he was sure. Because we were only twelve and what did kids know about boyfriends and girlfriends and sex. And he was just like, ‘I know l like Michael Wilson in science class.”

“What did you say?”

The words are soft, curious, but something else. Like Stiles is comparing this to his own coming out. “I told him we were cool as long as didn’t try to kiss me. And he told me I wasn’t his kind of pretty.”

Stiles laughs, and the sound is still strained, still a little congested with hurt and shame, but they’ve lessened. “I freaked out when I told Scott. Like, full-blown panic attack and crying. And he called his mom and told me to breathe and promised nothing was different.” He looks up then, face open and honest. “I’d never told anyone before. Not by myself. My--my mom always did it, always made sure my teachers knew, and that I wasn’t discriminated against. I didn’t know how to tell anyone else.”

“Danny said it gets easier. He told his parents when he was thirteen and his dad, I think, was a little distant for a while, but his mom said she’d always known. And he told a couple of other friends when we were in our freshman year, right after we both made the lacrosse team.”

“What happened?”

“It’s really his story tell, but it ended okay and coach looked out for him. Made sure everyone knew that intolerance would be punished strongly.”

“Do you think I’m a complete freak?”

“Stilinski, I have _always_ thought you were a freak. It should be humanly impossible for someone to put as much food into their mouths as you do and still form words. I get it, though. That you’re a boy. And I don’t think you’re freak just because you weren’t born that way. I just--I’m sorry. That I said what I said, even though I didn’t mean it like that.”

Stiles shrugs likes it’s okay, like he’s already moved on, but Jackson knows that’s not true. They were never close to begin with and Stiles is a lot to handle on a good day, no matter how well-intentioned he is, but he’s pack. Jackson recognizes that, and so does his wolf. So they’ll get there. They’ll figure out how to make this all work.

“You don’t make me sick, Stiles. The whole time I was sitting there, I was recalling every time you were injured during practice because of me and all I could think was, I would never do that to a girl. But you’re not, and I do get that. I swear. Danny will probably lecture me on this continuously for the next month just to make me less of a gender-normative asshole. And if it makes you feel any better, my first response when it comes to you is cause physical harm. I’m just not stupid enough to actually do it with an alpha werewolf lurking outside your bedroom window.”

Stiles’ gaze flies to the window and though there’s no way he can see Derek, he smiles all the same, like he knows he’s out there. “Yeah, he was pretty pissed when you went flying out of there.”

“I kept checking my rearview mirror expecting to see him chasing after me in wolf form.”

“Nah. I told him to let you go. Not everyone is going to take finding out I’m not quite right as miraculously well as Scott did. Or Derek, for that matter.” Stiles stands suddenly, and he meets Jackson’s eyes finally. “Anyway, you guys should probably go. My dad is due back soon and I’ve still got about four pages left in my essay to write.”

Jackson nods, and he’s got his hand on the door when he stops to look at Stiles. “What did Lydia say?”

“About what? About me? That’d I make a terrible girl. About you? Well, I’d lock my windows if I were you.” His grin is nothing but smug amusement, but Jackson doesn’t begrudge him that. He closes the door behind him as he leaves and heads for the stairs.

He’s almost at the landing when Derek appears in front of him, face twisted in a snarl, eyes glowing red. He shoves Jackson into the wall hard and his claws come out, closing around the tender part of Jackson’s throat.

“Do that to him -- or anyone else in the pack -- again, and I will kill you. If you have an issue with something, you deal with it or you leave. Make anyone else feel the way Stiles did, and they will be finding pieces of your body for years to come.”

Jackson tries to swallow past the fear, but that only makes Derek’s claws cut in deeper. He knows he must reek of sheer terror because even though he wanted this, even though he asked for Derek to make him a werewolf, Derek scares the shit out of him. Probably always will. He nods jerkily, only wincing a little. He can feel his blood pooling and dripping down his neck. Derek steps away, teeth bared.

“Good.”

Then he’s gone and it’s just Jackson again. He takes another deep breath, wipes his neck clean, and heads downstairs to where Scott and Danny are sitting in awkward silence. Scott smirks when he sees Jackson, but Danny only frowns.

“Everything all right?”

“What? Oh, yeah, just fine. I, uh, yeah. It’s--it’ll get there.”

“Of course it will. Now, you own me dinner because Cody went to his cousin’s house and isn’t coming back. Maybe while you’re taking me out for cheeseburgers, I can explain what cell phones are and how to use one to let people know when you’re planning on stopping by.”

“Great,” Jackson says, not meaning it in the slightest. Danny just smiles and throws an arm around Jackson’s shoulder. He’s still angry, or at least annoyed, but Jackson will fix that too.

He’s getting good at fixing things.

~ * ~

It takes three weeks for Jackson to figure out what everyone else apparently already knew. That Stiles is, and always will be, just _Stiles_. He breathes out a little easier when he spots Stiles in the hall, arms flailing madly while he’s talking to Scott. Jackson pretends not to notice him until it’s too late, and then he’s shouldering Stiles aside and into the lockers. He pauses, turns to smirk back at Stiles’ outraged and shocked cry.

“Problem, Stilinski?”

Stiles stares at him, gaping, then blinks. His mouth snaps shut, but a second later he’s grinning madly and Jackson feels this disconcerting wave of fondness. ‘ _Pack_ ’ his wolf whispers, pleased at the strength and fortitude it’s human packmate shows. Jackson agrees.

“Just you wait, dude. I will make first line next year and then I’m going to kick your ass.”

“Keep dreaming, Stilinski,” Jackson laughs, but as he turns away he smiles. Not one of the hollow, empty smiles he’s perfected over the years for teachers and acquaintances and even some of his friends, but a genuine smile.

He thoroughly intends to show Stiles who’s boss when practice starts up again.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to take a moment to express my awe at the strength people carry within themselves. In a society where gender norms seem to dominate perception, it can be incredibly hard to acknowledge that the two parts that make you a whole (who you are inside and how you appear) don't quite match up. I've said so through the voices of these characters, but I'd like to reiterate, I don't think those who are transgender were born _wrong_ , just that they are simply more incomplete than others. We all have to grow and learn to reach our potential, whatever that is. Their path to wholeness, however, will be harder and it will cost them more. So for those of us who do not face this conflict of self, hopefully we can offer them support and love and understanding. People need to be free to be who they are (assuming it does not hurt themselves or others). That, to me, is the point of this life. If we can ease their way by accepting them, giving them a shoulder to cry on and ear to vent in, then so be it.
> 
> Sorry for the long-winded message.
> 
> And yes, I totally tapped Modest Mouse’s ‘Float On’ for my title.


End file.
